Here is a quick recipe for an arugula basil pesto that I cobbled together from a few recipes recently. Arugula adds a peppery kick to the basil, and also, many nutrients. I also added some nutritional yeast for an umami kick, but feel free to leave that out. This is a great recipe for using up the arugula-in-baggies that you find at many supermarkets here in the US.
Eat this with pasta, fish, potatoes, vegetables, bread, or whatever else you wish. I have eaten this pesto with gnocchi – as shown in the photo – and very much enjoyed it.
Arugula basil pesto served on gnocchi – forgive the messiness of the photo please! (Photo mine, December 2025)
Arugula Basil Pesto
Makes 2 cups
½ cup pine nuts ½ cup extra-virgin olive oil ½ cup shredded Parmesan cheese 5 cloves garlic 3 cups arugula 3 tablespoons lemon juice ½ teaspoon table salt 1/3 cup basil leaves 2 teaspoons apple cider vinegar 1 teaspoon nutritional yeast (optional)
Toast the pine nuts. Here are two ways to do so:
Heat a dry skillet over medium heat, then add the pine nuts and heat, stirring constantly, for three minutes, or until they visibly change color or have a noticeable toasted-nut smell. Remove immediately from the heat.
Spread evenly on a microwave-safe plate, then microwave in 30-second spurts on high heat until golden color and fragrant.
Place the pine nuts in a food processor with the remaining ingredients.
Puree the mixture until it is consistent and well-mixed throughout.
Store in the refrigerator in a covered container for up to four days.
I have not yet reviewed a bookstore on this blog, despite a decade of writing. Today, that will change, because I want to tell you about one of my favorite bookstores in Washington DC: Bold Fork Books.
Bold Fork Books is in the Mount Pleasant neighborhood in northern Washington DC. It is an unusual bookstore in that it pretty much only sells cookbooks and food writing.
Of course, I love it. The store is small and has a tall wall shelf of cookbooks, which is quite frankly an ideal number of cookbooks. You can find cookbooks from all six continents, and food writing and history on many topics – as well as plenty of food-themed books for children. I rarely go in and leave without buying anything. It is, shall we say, dangerous for my wallet.
Photo from Bold Fork Books
Bold Fork sells – and prioritizes – books that often do not get “airtime” at larger bookstores. The store features books about cuisines from many, many more countries than one would find in a typical cookbook selection: Sierra Leone, Georgia, Barbados, Myanmar, Kenya, and Romania among them (including Irina Georgescu’s excellent Tava). I especially appreciate the hefty and growing selection of indigenous cookbooks on offer – including one of my favorites, Sean Sherman’s Sioux Chef. And while you can find your more “traditional” cuisines on the shelves as well, many of the cookbooks and other books are those that are perhaps not as renowned – and, incidentally, often easier for a cook new to a culinary tradition to follow. I first encountered Vietnamese Vegetarian – Uyen Luu’s wonderful book that I reviewed earlier this year – at Bold Fork.
The store also features many cookbooks that straddle the boundaries of cuisines and audiences. Many bookshops jettison the cookbooks that straddle cuisines or that do not have the right “authentic” sheen. I can also often tell a bookstore’s political leaning by the cookbooks on the shelf: a left-leaning shops will often have a focus on whatever cuisines are most popular at the time, and right-leaning shops often focus their cookbook selections on entertaining and baking. Bold Fork eschews this segregation and offers it all.
Bold Fork is worth a visit, and a wonderful way to support a local business that is a beloved space for the community. And if you do visit, I should note that the bookstore often hosts wonderful food events. When I go, I often see a cheese tasting or another event happening in the back of the store. I was fortunate enough to attend one such event last year – a talk on the links between opera history and food by Rita Monastero, who can best be described as the doyenne of Italian food television. (The talk included the memorable line, “Nelly Melba was very fond of the ice cream.”) Do try to attend an event – it is very cozy and you often get a lovely treat. In my case, it was Monastero’s wonderful artichoke and Parmesan pinwheel pastry.
Let me know what you think of Bold Fork and I hope to see you there.
This is a simple recipe that combines three things I deeply enjoy: garlic, rosemary, and salmon. Longtime readers have seen me post many things about rosemary. I have recently started growing my favorite herb on our rooftop terrace, and I now have a bit of an abundance.
The recipe itself was inspired, loosely, by a recipe published by Naz Deravian in the New York Times for chili crisp honey salmon. (Also worth cooking – it is delicious.) What inspired the recipe for me was not the original spicy-sweet flavor. Rather, it was what surprised me about the recipe: the surprising use of mayonnaise.
A mayonnaise selection in a Russian supermarket (photo courtesy of Alex Warburton)
In North America, it is most commonly a condiment – an application which I am personally lukewarm about. (I tend to prefer other condiments on my sandwich.) In many other countries, mayonnaise is served with fries or fried foods (an approach I do enjoy). Yet it is also a surprisingly versatile cooking ingredient. Here in the US, it has been used to make cakes and brown grilled sandwiches; in many other countries, it is used to make a complex potato salad that seems to be called a “Russian salad” nearly everywhere except Russia. But, as you likely know, mayonnaise has its detractors.
A lot of people say that mayonnaise is not very Jewish – but Jews have enjoyed mayonnaise in various ways for quite a while. Related lemon-and-egg sauces are fairly common in Sephardi traditions, and Jews from many communities in the former Soviet Union incorporate it into various ever-richer salads and other things. After all, mayonnaise is extremely popular, ubiquitous even, in Russia. Jews from the United Kingdom and South Africa enjoy a mysterious spread called “sandwich spread,” which is functionally mayonnaise with pickles inside. And we are not the only ones: different mayonnaises are popular as ingredients in Japan, the Arab World, and Latin America – though usually in lighter quantities than the thick layers found on many sandwiches in the US and Canada. (Chile’s hot dogs are a notable exception.) These are all places not usually associated with mayonnaise.
Most mayonnaise hate is simply disliking it, and honestly, it is fine to not like something without a Big Reason for it. I think some of the cultural aspects of mayonnaise aversion are a combination of some sort of strange grievance politics with an ingredient associated with dominant cultures, combined with a bit of shame that folks are using it rather than cooking “authentic cuisine” – which, I remind you, was always a sham.
The salmon – served with chili broccoli and mashed purple potatoes. (Photo David Ouziel, August 2025)
Enough about mayo, and back to the fish. I, like Deravian, find that the mayonnaise in this marinade helps keep the fish moist and binds the flavoring ingredients together more reliably than oil alone. Feel free to add more rosemary or garlic to taste – I tend to go for a bit more rosemary than most people. The honey adds some sweetness, and if you want, you can add more – but if you do so, be sure to add some more garlic or rosemary to balance it out a little. You could easily make this with another type of fish, but you will need to adjust the cooking time. (Arctic char is a good and sustainable substitute.)
Garlic Rosemary Honey Salmon
Loosely based on a recipe by Naz Deravian
Sunflower oil
2 lbs / 900 grams salmon filets, with skin on
Salt (you can use any kind – I use table salt)
Black pepper
¼ cup mayonnaise (I use light mayonnaise)
1 tbsp white wine vinegar
1 tablespoon chopped fresh rosemary
1 1/2 tablespoons minced garlic (about five cloves)
1 tablespoon honey
Preheat oven to 400F/200C. Lightly grease a baking tray or casserole pan with sunflower oil. The tray should be deep enough to hold the salmon and catch any fluid coming off.
Place the salmon, skin-side down, on the baking surface. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
Mix the other ingredients together and spoon over the salmon.
Bake for 20 minutes, or until the fish is flaking and slightly resistant when pushed with a fork.
Remove from the oven and let sit on the tray for a few minutes before eating.
Store leftovers in a covered container in the refrigerator for up to three days.
Thanks to David Ouziel for participating in several rounds of User Acceptance Testing for this recipe. Special thanks to Jonathan Bressler, Margaret Wessel Walker, Alex Warburton, Tamara Velasquez, and Adam Sperber for mayonnaise-specific research support.
Lest I forget – Naz Deravian’s book of Iranian cooking, Bottom of the Pot, is well worth acquiring. I particularly like her recipes for kookoos – big, vegetable-filled frittatas.
This has been, by my math, the longest stretch I have gone without posting something here. And trust me, I have good reason: I have been launching a business! I am now the owner of Opossum House Accessibility, which is my vehicle for providing bespoke accessibility consulting services for public and private clients. Launching a business is hard, but has been supremely fun. Subscribe to the newsletter here – I plan to write something in the future about how food blogging gave me skills I applied for launch.
Besides that, I have also been traveling. My husband (love that word!) and I went to Japan and South Korea on our honeymoon in May and June, and we have also been traveling on the Eastern Seaboard of the United States.
Anyway, enough prattle from what I am doing. You are here to read about food!The travels and business startup process have given me a lot to “chew on,” metaphorically and literally, about modern food and what modernist food is and is not. So, I want to share three reflections on modernist cooking.
Japan and South Korea do modernist food really well.
The wondrous world of a Japanese convenience store – in this case, a SeicoMart in Sapporo. (Photo mine/May 2025)
I am very much not the first person to write about the wonders of convenience stores in Japan and Korea. In these chains, you can get simple, reasonably healthy, and traditionally-rooted dishes for very cheap. Favorites include onigiri (Japan) or samgak gimbap (Korea) – rice balls with fillings, various noodle salads, and filled buns. While we definitely had “nicer” meals too, the stores were helpful for snacks or after a long day of sightseeing.
On both this trip and a past trip to these countries in 2019, I found myself thinking about how these stores exemplify what Rachel Laudan calls for her in her seminal article about culinary modernism: that we should advocate for cheap, high-quality processed food for everyone – not to undo processing. (I have written about this at length on these pages.) While 7-Eleven is making some moves towards this in the United States, I think these Japanese and Korean stores give us in North America a lot to think about. These stores also made me wonder about how these tastes have then affected Japanese and Korean cuisine more broadly. Do the wares of konbini in Japan and pyeonuijeom in South Korea change what people seek to make when they are at home? This is something that, despite the language barrier, I want to learn more about.
Generative artificial intelligence (AI) is overrated – especially in the kitchen.
Me, reading claims about generative AI. (Image via The Noun Project)
When you start a business nowadays, people want to talk to you about generative AI. This is especially true in accessibility, where a lot of people try to apply generative AI badly. I was already a bit suspicious of claims about generative AI, but decided to give it a little bit of a shot because it seemed money was there. After talking to Generative AI enthusiasts and my own research, I am now more skeptical than before. (As a result, I chose to ignore the misguided advice from more than one person to spend an hour a day fooling around on ChatGPT or Claude.)
Because people mean lots of things when they say “AI,” I will be more specific. I am talking about predictive large language models that generate content; for example, ChatGPT, Claude, or Gemini. These are prediction-based tools that use “the most likely” thing to generate something. When you state it like that, the weird claims about generative AI sound a lot less plausible.
(I acknowledge there are some limited use cases that work well. For example: the designer I hired for my logo used AI models to replicate the beautiful logo she designed across business cards and letter heads. A friend of mine used a large language model to help people find the correct lawyer for their needs. Image description AI tools, which can come from multiple forms of AI, have been helpful for my blind friends. But the first is a talented artist using a tool to save time in applying her skills, and the second has many sources and is not usually reliant on large language models.)
I will link some great AI skepticism below. Anyway, I was originally going to write about how generative AI is actually a problem when you apply it to cooking, but Joe Ray at Wired published that article last week. He did the work of talking about the problems of asking generative AI for recipes, so I do not have to. Definitely go read it! It makes many of the points I wanted to make, and more.
Grilled fish – no AI needed. (Photo mine/May 2025)
In any case, I also spent time – especially on long flights and Amtrak rides – thinking about how people use generative AI in the kitchen. Apparently, people use it to “save time” with knowing when food is going off or to use food, plan their meals and grocery shopping, look for recipes, or figure out what to cook.
I think there are tons of problems here. Ray goes in about them in the food context, and other people – especially Ed Zitron and Baldur Bjarnason – have written about these issues in other contexts. But for cooking, I see two big problems. One is that cooking is embodied. Many of the things we do when we cook, we do through physical sense and actions that we take without describing well. How we beat an egg, see that something is browning, or how my blind friend listens to hear if a sponge cake is fully cooked. Generative AI does not have a body, much less knowledge one gains through a body. So the “advice” it spits out is already suspect.
The other is that cooking is inherently unpredictable. What happens when, as occurred to me last week, you cut into a cucumber to find a worm, and you need to rejig the salad you made? Or when you accidentally spill too much salt into your soup? AI usually looks for the “most likely” thing – but sometimes, we need to take unlikely steps in cooking. I worry about what happens to someone’s ability to cook and feed themselves when they become reliant on a tool that cannot handle the unpredicted. (And as an autistic person, I know surprises are hard! But they are part of life.)
Friends have also made a point that much of the dependence on AI is a direct consequence of the parlous state – and degradation – of search platforms, something that I have seen as I have written this blog over the past decade. Google and Bing, for example, both return far less reliable results than even two years ago. People are looking for something that seems useful to them – even if, as in this case, it causes more problems than it solves.
Modernist cooking is lots of things, but this use of AI is not one of them. At best, it is gimmicky. At worst, it becomes another way to pressure people to spend more time, energy, and money cooking than they can afford. What I see most vis-a-vis AI and food is that it is papering over an unhealthy or unsustainable relationship someone has with food. The problem is not that you need to better track your produce or plan your meals – the problem is you are trying to cook or eat in such a way that is not working with the way you live your life. And there is no shame – and it is probably better for your health, the planet, your wallet, and your well-being – if you choose to eat some more processed or prepared foods, or eat that sandwich, or do something simple, because that is what you have time for. And there are many established, low-tech, and more reliable ways to do this tracking. (I use a notebook.)
And if you need recipes, why not go to the original source? Recipe writers are humans whose work deserves to be supported. The best way to get free recipes, besides food blogs, is to support your local library and check out a few cookbooks – which you can now even do online. These books’ recipes are tested with the embodied knowledge that AI can never have. Here in Greater Washington, I have immensely enjoyed the cookbook collections in both Montgomery County and Washington DC’s library systems.
The blender and food processor are modern miracles.
A spectacular vegetarian mango and tofu salad with rice crackers at Chay in Falls Church, VA (photo mine/August 2024)
My business startup period has coincided with a renewed love of Southeast Asian vegetable salads. These are magnificent, hearty creations that feature shredded vegetables and fruit, often with tangy dressings and tofu or even fish for heft. (Vietnamese mango salads are a particular favorite.) While traveling, I was also lucky enough to have many delicious things that prominently feature grated carrots – fritters, pickles, noodle dishes, and even desserts. Grating or julienning by hand is a slow, dangerous process – and I am slower with a knife than most people. And besides that, I do not always have the time to do such an intense chop – especially with all of the tasks of getting a business launched and starting business development. My workaday, mundane food processor and blender have been a lifesaver. I can satisfy my cravings, safely, and do it in a reasonable amount of time. This machine is a win for society, not a cop out.
I have also, after nearly 34 years on this planet, finally come to truly understand why people love smoothies. Not as a meal replacement, but it is nice to have something somewhat heartier than my typical coffee (normal or decaf), tea, or sparkling water to sip on. It is especially comforting while I am trying to learn QuickBooks Online. Now, hearty drinks have a long history – in Viking Age Scandinavia and pre-colonial Mesoamerica, hearty grain-based drinks were very common. But the smoothie as we understand it now, with pureed fruit, yogurt, and anything else, is completely enabled by modern cooking equipment such as a blender. The miracle of cooking in 2025 is not a predictive model that can tell you to combine tarragon and fennel to flavor your pasta (pro tip: do not do this), but the fact that I can plug a machine in that spins a knife and liquifies a mango for me. What a time to be alive. Baruch Hashem.
I found a cool history of blenders (PDF) from Purdue University’s Extension Service. Also, given I mentioned the Viking Age and Classic Mesoamerica, I have two archeology books to recommend to you. Children of Ash and Elm, by Neil Price (for the Viking Age) and Collision of Worlds, by David Carballo (Mesoamerica) are some of the best books I have ever read, and changed the way I think about certain parts of food history.
Thank you to my husband, David Ouziel, for marrying me, traveling with me, putting up with my increasingly unhinged rants about AI hysteria, and eating my green mango salad with gusto. Thanks to Emma Greenstein, Mikaela Brown, Michael Faccini, Jonathon Epstein, Dexter O’Connell, Maryam Sabbaghi, AJ Faust, Matthew Marcus, Benjamin Gammage, Joe Conrad, Rachel Ouziel, and Jad Atoui for talking through some points in number 2 with me. Thanks to longtime readers Alex Strauss, Aaron Rubin, and Adelin Travers for taking us on wonderful food adventures in Japan.
My husband loves Vietnamese food. The balance of flavors speaks to him; he loves the textures and the forward tastes; and he likes lemongrass more than anyone I know. He asked me to make more Vietnamese food recently. (Reader, I lovingly cater his meals.) I decided to buy a cookbook, and chose Vietnamese Vegetarian, by Uyen Luu, because we do not eat much meat. This quick purchase was an excellent one, which I now recommend to you.
Vietnamese Vegetarian is an incredible book for three reasons: its approach, its flexibility, and of course, the recipes.
First – this book is a perfect example of what an accessible showcase of a cuisine can be. The recipes are rooted in what Vietnamese people eat in Vietnam and the diaspora, of course. Many common favorites are in this book – pho, sour soups, noodle salads, and summer rolls among them. However, Luu does not insist that you always find the exact ingredient someone might use in Vietnam, and offers options and substitutions, especially aimed for someone not near Vietnamese or other Southeast Asian stores. For example, she offers quite a number of potential substitutions in her noodle recipes – and explains how you may need to adjust the recipe.
Secondly – this book accounts for flexibility in recipes in a way that I will seek to emulate more on this blog, now. Many of her recipes come with a dizzying array of options: be it to bake or fry the spring rolls, which herbs to include in your banh xeocrepes, or the multiple seasoning options for simple stir-fried greens. After reading this book, I will now include more “choose your own adventure” posts here.
Basil (rau húng quế), which frequently appears in the book’s recipes. (Photo VanGenius via CC/Flickr)
And, of course, the recipes are delicious. Many of these recipes are a bit complex – especially the ones involving rice flour (which is very easy to mess up!) – but well worth the time. On the simpler side, I have really enjoyed the tofu with tomato and Thai basil (called rau húng quế in Vietnamese) and the lemongrass tofu, and the cold noodle dishes are all really tasty. I also recommend the many-recipes-in-one garlicky greens close to the beginning of the book. Even with my experience in cooking, that recipe gave me many new ideas.
Vietnamese food culture is a wonderful world, and Luu’s book is a great place to start. I recommend the book and hope you enjoy it. Be sure to also explore Vietnamese eateries in your area if you are so able: this cookbook has heightened the joy of going to these businesses for me as well. I now deeply appreciate, even more, the creativity and human endeavor of this cuisine.
I laughed – of course I like Jews. My interlocutor, who was from Spain, seemed confused. She was talking about green beans.
Never mind that I was more accustomed to the deeply Mexican word, ejotes, or the less common poroto and vainita. (Every Spanish-speaking country has their own word.)What I found interesting was that in Spain, and several other countries, the word for “green bean” is literally “Jews” or “green Jews.” (PDF in Spanish) Well, “green Jewish women.”
Green beans and carrots (photo David Ouziel/March 2025)
Many fantastic green bean dishes exist across the Jewish world – especially stewed with another New World star, the tomato. That recipe, fasolyas or fasolakes, has hundreds of variations. Jewish and non-Jewish Iranians cook lubia polo, a rich dish of rice, green beans, and often, meat. Egyptian Jewish stew lamb or beef with green beans – and sometimes, tomatoes too. Indian Jews sauté green beans with mustard and cumin. They are all delicious.
I took inspiration from three sources for this dish. One is a green bean dish perfected by my husband’s late grandmother, who was from the venerable Jewish community of Thessaloniki (Salonica). She cooked her green beans in a tomato-based stew – a different recipe, but the seasoning is inspired by her. When my father-in-law makes the dish, I usually consume four helpings. The dry stew and the addition of carrots are inspired both by a recipe from Tuscany and Italian Jewish communities and the Ethiopian fasolia, in which green beans and carrots are sauteed such that the green beans’ juices become part of the stew.
Eat this dish with bread, rice, or any carbohydrate you like.
Green Beans and Carrots
Serves 4-5 as a side
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, finely chopped
1 tablespoon white wine or rice wine vinegar
1 pound/450g green beans, chopped into 1.5”/4cm pieces
3 medium carrots, peeled and chopped into 1.5”/4cm matchsticks (roughly 1/4”/1/2cm wide)
2 tablespoons tomato paste
1 tablespoon bouillon base (or 2 bouillon cubes)
½ teaspoon ground black pepper
1/2 cup water
Heat the oil in a large skillet on medium-high heat, then add the onions and garlic.
Sauté the onions and garlic for a 4-5 minutes or until the onions are quite soft and translucent.
Add the vinegar and sauté for another minute.
Add the green beans and carrots and mix in, then sauté for 30 seconds.
Add the tomato paste, bouillon base, and black pepper and mix in thoroughly. Then, add the water.
Bring to a simmer, then reduce the heat to medium-low and cook for 10-15 minutes, stirring regularly. Allow the vegetables to become soft and the sauce to reduce. If the sauce is very reduced, add a splash more water.
Once the green beans and carrots are tender and the sauce is reduced, turn off the heat.
Serve hot or warm. Keep leftovers in a sealed container in the fridge for up to five days.
Thank you to David for conducting User Acceptance Testing on this recipe!
As you can probably guess, I read a lot of cookbooks. Not as many in the form of books that I own, as of late: instead, I have come to love e-cookbooks on my tablet and borrowing – and xeroxing – copies of cookbooks from libraries. There are many wonderful books that I have found – the electronic version of Uyen Luu’s book on vegetarian Vietnamese cooking is a particular favorite, as is Hetty McKinnon’s Tenderheart.
Most of this reading is “comfort” reading or “research”: I get many ideas for recipes on and off the blog from these books, and it is helpful to be familiar with different recipes. Besides, I have somehow become a bit of a “go-to” person among my friends for cooking questions – and so it is helpful to know about lots of different recipes, even if I stick to my comfortable rotation. (Which includes several recipes on this blog.)
Authenticity used to be all the rage, and longtime readers will know that I am not a fan. Even five or six years ago, cookbook publishers were fawning over to prove their volumes as the most authentic, most unadulterated, or most “true” to a certain form of the cuisine. Note that I say publishers and not authors – because, in most cases, this was a marketing ploy for the consumer. Yet none of this fawning made authenticity any more real. And many of the most interesting things about culinary traditions – the use of new ingredients, or how social norms and practices have changed over time, or even some of the tastiest recipes – fell by the wayside.
Yet in recent years, I have seen newer cookbooks embrace authenticity less. Some flat out never use the word. Others, and especially those by people from the country whose cuisine is documented, often acknowledge – and celebrate – the “inauthentic” things they are doing. One example is Uyen Luu’s aforementioned cookbook. She uses capers to replace other, non-vegetarian ingredients common in Vietnamese cuisine, and encourages her readers to use the ingredients they actually have, with her recipes as a guide. Similarly, Naz Deravian’s fantastic Bottom of the Pot, which contains many delicious and fantastically photographed Iranian recipes, includes her own creations from common ingredients in North America, as well as recipes that push boundaries – like her sour cherry crostini. (Which I highly recommend.)
I think this is a good thing. Since I wrote my authenticity piece back in 2017, I have noticed something curious: authenticity, rather than guaranteeing the trueness of a cuisine, is often a prison. Food, and cooking, become something that has to be performed when you seek authenticity – often at great energy, expense, or waste. Seeking the “authentic” also often traps people in a time capsule – even as the purported owners of the cuisine are trying new things. For a particularly poignant example: while some may decry rainbow and cinnamon raisin bagels, many New York bagel shops now include quinoa in bagels for a healthier variety of the “everything” bagel. (I am mildly allergic to quinoa, so if someone could review these for me, that would be appreciated.) I would rather have a living Jewish cuisine, not a time capsule version thereof.
Every cuisine deserves room to grow and change – and people are creative! And so I hope instead of the strange and confining bounds of authenticity and nostalgia, we see cookbooks not only acknowledge the wonders of mixing, but also inspire new traditions. What will be Jewish cuisine in 50 years? I cannot wait to find out.
I want to kick off 2025 with this simple tomato soup. I have made a variety of freehand tomato soups now and again over the years – this one is perhaps a bit more elaborate than usual. It goes well with sandwiches, latkes, or anything particularly “carby.”
Fresh heirloom tomatoes, before cooking or canning, at a farmer’s market in Charleston, SC. (Photo mine/September 2017)
Tomato soup mine, not Reese’s. (Photo mine/January 2025)
I add the luxuries of some fresh tomatoes and basil to my soup, but these can easily be swapped for dried basil and more canned tomatoes. This is a soup that does well as leftovers, and feel free to make in large quantities and freeze for later.
Tomato Soup
Makes 4 big or 8 small servings
3 tablespoons butter or vegetable oil
1 small Vidalia onion, roughly chopped
1 large carrot, roughly chopped
4 stalks celery, roughly chopped
5 cloves garlic, smashed
2 15 oz/425g cans diced tomatoes, unsalted
A handful of fresh basil, roughly chopped, or 2 teaspoons dried basil
1 tablespoon bouillon base or two bouillon cubes, crushed
4 cups water
3 small Roma tomatoes, roughly chopped (see note above)
1 teaspoon table salt
¾ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
In a medium-sized Dutch oven on medium-high heat, melt the butter or heat the oil.
Add the onion, carrot, celery, and garlic, and sweat for a few minutes, stirring regularly, until the onion is noticeably softer and smaller.
Add the diced tomatoes and mix in.
When the tomatoes start bubbling, add the basil and bouillon and mix in thoroughly.
Add the water and bring to a boil.
When boiling, add the tomatoes, salt, and pepper.
Simmer for 15-20 minutes, or until the peel is coming off the tomato pieces. Stir often.
Turn off the heat.
Blend the soup with a stick blender or in batches in a food processor.
Serve hot. The soup keeps for up to six days in the refrigerator or four months in the freezer.
Thanks to David Ouziel, Thomas Hamed, Dan Reed, Maryam Sabbaghi, and Douglas Graebner for participating in User Acceptance Testing for this recipe.
I do not know when I stopped liking marshmallows or cantaloupe. What I also do not know is when marshmallow then transmogrified into a food that inspires physical horror and discomfort at its mere mention. (Reader, my spine tingles in pain as I write those eleven letters.) Meringues and honeydew remain, somehow, pleasurable. What I can say is that marshmallow and cantaloupe, which were perfectly acceptable to child Jonathan, have become either an absolute aversion to me as an adult, or a strong dislike.
Witness: my nightmare food (photo by Jack Redgate on Pexels.com)
Societally we speak often of growing into foods: strong cheeses, bitter and umami tastes, and vegetables. But what about growing out of tastes? This post is about what tastes one might grow out of, and what that looks like.
I am not writing based on any scientific research. Rather, I am communicating what I learned from asking friends and social media connections, as well as finding various articles on this topic across the internet – including from many food bloggers. Many people, it turns out, had parallel experiences to mine with marshmallows and cantaloupe, albeit with other foods.
Quite a number shared that their tolerance for sweetness had reduced. For example, one friend cannot eat candy anymore; another mentioned that a childhood favorite ice cream now inspires nausea. I have noticed that my capacity for a certain kind of saccharine sweetness is now gone, too. For a few people, a small sweet tooth disappears totally. Many other newly disliked foods were downstream of a reduced taste for sweetness: some people spoke of a newfound dislike for persimmons, juice, packaged cakes, or bananas.
This is part of a natural process: as we age, our taste buds become less attuned to sweetness. In addition, as our palates grow, we also develop new expectations that put less emphasis on sweetness. And while I cannot speak to the science of how that translates to new dislikes, I can say that it feels parallel to other types of “outgrowing” we see in our lives.
Less of this for many adults. (Photo Luke Jones via Flickr)
The conversation around sweetness reminded me of what Bee Wilson very aptly called “kid food” in her book First Bite: food that is designed, marketed, and intended for children – though enjoyed by all ages. (Think dinosaur nuggets.) So much of “kid food” around the world is eye-wateringly sweet. While others have discussed the ample impacts of this sugar consumption at length, what interests me is how this tendency can lead people to think of sweetness as something for children. Consider, for example, how less sweet desserts are often called “adult” or “for grown-ups.” Many dislikes shared with me seemed to parallel this social norm: for example, a reduced love of fast food (which can also be quite sweet).
There were other outgrown tastes too. One person noted that they could not eat excessively salty things anymore. Fellow neurodivergent people, like me, gained some aversions too: towards cold cheese, fish, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, walnuts, and tea, among other things. While we often associate aversions with autistic children, they persist – and often develop – in adulthood!
In considering this input, my friend Margaret’s comment really stuck with me: she spoke of allowing herself to dislike things that she always disliked. Indeed, that is an important lesson: it is okay to not like some things. Many adults take a whole lifetime to accept that lesson. While we often celebrate learning to like new things – which is good! – I think we need to make room for Margaret’s point here too. Being okay with not liking something is a learned skill, and one in which we can all support each other.
And that’s a form of disappointment – which is not only something one learns to accept, but also the root of the other response I found most interesting. One friend noted that she found herself not outgrowing things, but rather finding herself disappointed by certain things – and offered the example of a zebra cake. I found this observation deeply resonant, as there are many foods I would now consider not unlikeable, but disappointing. What comes to mind first for me is the granola bar, which I now generally find to be a little odd texture-wise. Beyond this, though, I think my friend did find a different type of taste and growth: because is it not true that growing, in taste and other things, includes learning how to be disappointed?
Thanks to many friends for talking to me about what you stopped liking!
It has happened to many of us: you walk into the kitchen in your office, hoping to warm up your leftovers (perhaps from one of my recipes, I hope). And there, piled on the kitchen counter, is the orange shock of powdered cheese from mac-and-cheese.
Kitchen inconsiderateness has struck again.
Drawing from Openverse
I am lucky enough to work in an office with colleagues who keep our shared kitchen quite clean and are generally “good kitchen buddies,” so I have been insulated from kitchen problems for the past few years. I cannot say the same about some other places I have worked. In addition, many friends, have shared horror stories with me about their office kitchens, especially in the post “return to office era.” Meanwhile, a few of my colleagues (who, I repeat, are doing great!) have noted that a list of common rules would actually be helpful.
So here is my attempt to write something on being a good co-worker when you share a sink, microwave, fridge, and maybe even toaster oven, coffee maker, or kettle with dozens of other people.
We all know some tried and true rules – don’t put fish in the microwave, don’t steal other people’s food, don’t set things on fire. But I think there are some basic rules that everyone should make an effort to follow – which are followed by fewer people than we care to admit.
So, to start you off on being a good kitchen co-sharer and co-worker, I have five rules that I suggest you follow.
Clean your mess. If you spill it, you clean it, now. If you see that something of yours went off, you toss it, now. It does not wait. It is not a later project. This is your responsibility. If you need help, by all means, get it, but in a shared space, you do not less your mess fester.
Monitor your stuff. It is your responsibility to make sure you do not have anything rotten in the fridge or cupboards, and it is your responsibility to make sure that when you put things away, you are not causing a risk for anyone else.
Be accountable. If you break something, own up to it! If you spill something, clean it up – and own up to it! Honesty is a very important principle in any shared space.
Beyond honesty, communal duty is also important. Make sure the duty to ensure the kitchen is clean rotates among different colleagues. Put it in writing, and make sure that folks check it, and take their turns. Kindly, professionally, but firmly dismiss excuses. For example, if someone is unsure how to clean the kitchen, you can always suggest they look up one of the many excellent guides available on the internet.
If you do have trouble, I suggest making a list of tasks. As patronizing as it may sound, a list will help people remember things that are often forgotten – especially tasks like descaling the coffee maker or cleaning the microwave.
Be prepared for some juicy excuses. I have now experienced more than one autistic person who has told me – someone who very much has autism – that their autism meant that they could not clean a shared space. With all honesty, the insistence of many fellow neurodivergent people on sloughing off all communal duty under the slogan of “but, brain” enrages me in a stapler-touching way. (Enjoy the ‘90s reference.) The answer to this is to find ways to make the duty as accessible as possible, not slough it off on other colleagues who might have their own access needs. I actually made an entire site about it.
Fix what you see, when you can. This is related to #1. If you see that someone else did a bad thing – say, leaving a spill uncleaned – you should fix it. Even if it is not your fault. Saying “not me” builds bad rapport – and also, heightens the risk for everyone. The longer a mess goes unaddressed, the more likely consequences – vermin, a slip and fall, or even a nasty smell – are. Of course, there is an exception here: do not try to fix things that you cannot fix – say, a completely fried toaster oven. That could get dangerous pretty quickly.
Wash your hands early and often. I have a gut feeling that many people get food poisoning in shared work kitchens because of all the flying bacteria and varied skills with food safety. You also never know who might have an allergy, and what your hands have picked up elsewhere in your office. A hand wash rarely hurts.
And lastly, in the spirit of #3: I am sure I missed something. What else would you add?
